Creed
by Lollywater
Summary: A matriarchal coven of witches in a town near Ipswich find their world turned upside down by a murder and an unknown evil power. They find themselves forced to seek help from the Sons of Ipswich – but the Sons are reluctant to help…well, most of them. Post-movie. Rated M for content and language to come.
1. Chapter 1

0.

The rain had been falling for almost ten days straight. Blake Weaver's eyes – as blue and cold as ice, according to her perennially absent mother – were fixed on the drops that ran in rivulets along the library's picture windows, her face bleak. _Is it going to stop? _she wondered; she wasn't thinking about the abysmal weather.

She could hear the three girls seated behind her exchanging catty observations. One of them – Taylor Turner, the biggest bitch Blake had ever met and by far the worst of the three – had drawn a rough caricature: big head, big boobs, dirty brown hair. The caption she'd chosen was 'Charlotte the harlot.'

_Original. _Blake rolled her eyes and twisted her dark blonde hair into a knot at the nape of her neck, revealing some of the purple rose tattooed there to her classmates. She was the only student at The Academy of Sir Ian Aldridge with a tattoo; she only got away with it because every generation of her family had attended the elitist high school, spanning over a century.

The whispers shared between Taylor Turner, Daisy Matthews-Michelson and Katherine St. Claire in Row H of Lecture Hall 5 were too quiet to be rightfully heard by anyone _but _those three; and facing the front, as she was, Blake shouldn't have been able to know what was scrawled on the piece of paper in Taylor's hands. The fact that she, Blake Werner, could – and _did _– was still endlessly fascinating (and confusing) to her.

She'd known for seventeen years – which was, coincidentally, her whole life – that she was a witch. She was also a member of a coven of witches, formed after the Salem witch trials in 1693. At twelve, she'd been shipped off to a New England boarding school hidden in Topsfield, Massachussets by her parents (which was, evidently, a right of passage); and that was when she'd met the people who meant the most to her in the world.

At sixteen, she'd performed the rituals that granted her power over her magical abilities, and she'd been grappling with the new reality of her world since. The difference between knowing you would one day use magic, and _actually using it, _was beyond measure.

Students screamed as one of the windows – the one closes to Taylor Turner and her two hench-wenches – blew open, allowing a gust of wind and gusseting rain to tear through the room. Blake let herself smile for just a second as Taylor tore towards the opposite side of the room, trailed by Daisy and Katherine; within seconds, her hair and uniform had been drenched and mascara was left running down their faces in thick, black streaks.

Taylor let out an inhumane scream.

The professor at the front of the lecture hall barely blinked behind his heavy-duty glasses. "Somebody close the window. It's water, Miss Turner – the damage it has done is not, I assure you, permanent."

A few students laughed. Blake was among their number.

"_Not _funny."

She looked to her left.

Caggie Duchaine – better known as 'Charlotte the Harlot' to some – was staring at her, and her chocolate eyes were dim and disapproving. Though they were the same age, Caggie had met the criteria for ascension sooner than Blake had, and had been enjoying control over magic abilities for almost two years.

It had rendered her boring, unimaginative and, worst of all, _responsible. _

"She was – "

"I _know _what she was doing."

Blake rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over the chest of her green plaid pinafore. "Whatever. She deserved it."

Caggie sat still and quiet for a moment, a look of judgement fixed on her face. She sighed and brushed a lock of wavy brown hair behind her ear. The simple gesture reminded Blake of the year she'd spent hating Caggie for her classic beauty: heart-shaped face, doe eyes and flawless, glowing skin.

That wasn't all she'd envied her for, though…she stole a glance across the room at Edwin Arthur, who was still laughing at Taylor's dramatics. She'd hated Caggie because she'd thought, for a year, that she was in love with Ed.

Caggie fixed her eyes on the screen of her Macbook. "You need to remember that we only – "

" – _do good,_" Blake finished. She sighed and glanced at the clock on the wall. In fifteen minutes the school day would end; Blake would head to the dormitories, where she bunked with the other boarders, and Caggie would head to the student parking lot, drive to Main Street and spend the night in the apartment above the Wiccan store, where she lived with her aunt. In any case, the unavoidable lecture she was about to receive wouldn't take long.

"It's our creed," Caggie whispered, as the other students settled back into their seats. The students who'd been soaked by the rain had left the class, leaving almost no-one sitting within hearing distance of the two young witches – Caggie remained cautious nonetheless. "You took the creed and you're a part of the covenant: you're bound to obey."

Blake huffed and opened her email program, clicking through outdated emails from tutors and school newsletters. Her mother had sent her an email while she was on holiday in St. Tropez; Blake didn't bother to open it.

No-one took the creed more seriously than Caggie did. Blake had spoken the words, but she wasn't sure she believed them then and she was confident she didn't believe them now. _I honor the creed of the covenant and vow to protect the righteous and the sanctity of the good – _it was a laughable promise. Why protect people for no reason other than their obedience? Protecting boring people was_ boring; _wreaking a little havoc now and then was way more fun.

Caggie reflected on the other half of the creed she – and Blake, along with the four other members of their coven – had taken when she had ascended to power:

_I will know the sacred power of our honored fallen sisters, and my daughters will know their legend and their ways. I will live in secret, and speak no words of the power I wield, revealing myself only to those of my kind; I will live in safety, with a trusted bond held secret by my coven-sisters, and never abandon them; but I will live in glory, with a power like the world has never seen. _

Since 1693, her ancestors had spoken those words. All had upheld them, however unwillingly, and Blake would, too.

_All but one, _she thought, correcting herself. Two years ago, she (as the eldest) had taken on a position of leadership within their coven when her predecessor, Raani, had run away from Topsfield: no note left, no goodbyes said. That had been a shock to all of them; Blake most of all.

"You should think of the example you're setting for Teddy, Bee," Caggie said sagely, avoiding eye contact. "For Ya-Ya and Ems."

"You set a good enough example for all three," Blake muttered defensively, but Caggie knew that she had hit Blake in a weak spot: living at boarding school – away from her seven-year-old sister, Theodora – took a daily toll on her.

"I need you."

Blake softened. Caggie's arm was resting on the tabletop and she gripped it tightly, squeezing it as if an action as simple as that could convey the enormity of her support. She was separated from her sister, true – but she had three others who needed her just as much. "And you know I'm here for you."

"Let's just make this an event-free year, Bee…deal?" Caggie raised her eyebrows as she awaited Blake's answer. "No suspensions; no _mysterious accidents; _no in-fighting."

"Deal," Blake agreed, reluctantly.

They both knew that the promise was pointless. Wherever they went – and Blake in particular – trouble seemed to follow.


	2. Chapter 2

1.

It was two hours and fifteen minutes later than Caggie had intended. She checked her watch and hastened her steps a little, pissed off that she'd let herself get distracted. What she'd intended as being a quick trip to the library to return a book she'd borrowed (on Queen Mary of Scotland, for her History class) had turned into a two hour argument with Ed.

It was the awkward ex-boyfriend scenario from Hell; she'd dumped him for a good reason, and he thought she'd dumped him for _no _reason. It wasn't like there was an _Everybody Poops _for the magical world with a chapter on dumping boyfriends for their own good that could explain how to let a guy down gently without telling him something stupid, like "_sorry we can't date but things have changed: I'm a witch leader now._"

She stomped her feet a little harder as she walked, her black leather flats biting into the pavement. _Could he _be _more conceited? _He'd stalked her to the library after class and demanded to know why she'd broken up with him two months ago – and especially, if there was someone else she was seeing.

Although she had been getting…well, bored with him. For lack of a better word. And she'd been bored _long _before she'd inherited the coven from the now very-absent Raani.

Images of Raani flashed, unbidden, in her mind. She bit her lip, tensing like she always did. _I hope you're okay, _she thought. Unlike her other sisters – Ems, Ya-Ya, Blake and Mama Jeanie – she had lost the psychic connection she'd once had with Raani. They couldn't communicate through it anyway, but it would have been nice to feel her vitality; to know she was _there _and okay.

"What took you so long?"

Freya Arendshorst (who refused to acknowledge any name other than 'Ya-Ya') was leaning against Caggie's Jeep, her flame red eyebrows knitted together. Her hunter green sweater – a part of the Academy's uniform – was tied tightly around her waist; her hair was tied in a messy topknot. "I've been getting feedback from your bad mood for two hours now; I even snapped at a freshman without provocation while I was waiting. What have you been _doing?_"

Caggie hoped her face didn't look as bitter as she felt. "Ed cornered me in the library," she said as explanation. She threw her backpack onto the car's backseat a little harder than necessary, trying to find a way to expel her disgust.

"How pathetic." Ya-Ya raised an eyebrow. "Same old argument?"

"The exact same."

Both girls clambered into the car. Ya-Ya pulled down the car's sun-shield and used the mirror on the back to check her makeup. Caggie's Jeep was one of five cars left in the parking lot; it was eerie to be so alone. And as she thought that thought, the hairs on the back of her neck prickled.

"Do you feel like you're being watched lately?" she asked Caggie, trying to sound casual. The question didn't feel casual, though. A shiver ran up and down her spine. She tried to ignore the feeling and applied her Chapstick, but her mind kept coming back to it. It was the same feeling that came over her when one of her sisters – members of her coven – was nearby, but reversed; flipped; different. This feeling was probing and intrusive.

It was wrong.

Caggie started the engine, sparing a glance at her redheaded companion. She brushed her own brown hair behind her ear. She always felt plain around Ya-Ya and Ems, who were younger and more frivolous than she was now – much like she'd been two years ago, actually, when she'd first ascended into power. They spent time on their hair and wore lip gloss; they wore nice jeans with designer labels and shopped for new dresses before school dances. They gossiped about other students doing the most mundane of things, never realizing how strange it was to care about someone sassing a teacher when you could split and reassemble atoms in perfect composition using nothing but your thoughts.

"No," she said. _God, how I envy you…I'd give anything to be frivolous for a day. _"Have you spoken to Mama Jeanie about it?"

"I'll do it tonight. Over dinner."

Mama Jeanie was Caggie's aunt, and they'd lived together since 1995 when Caggie's parents – Jeanie's younger sister – had died in a car accident. She was also the High Priestess of their coven and, according to Ems' mother (_Ms. _Lincoln-Grey, since the divorce), Mama Jeanie was a Witch Queen – which meant she'd led more than five covens throughout her life.

According to Ms. Lincoln-Grey, she'd even led two at once.

Caggie's was a coven of scholar witches – girls learning to control their powers. She couldn't imagine being in charge of a group of _actual _witches, let alone two at once. Knowledge like that made her admire Mama Jeanie; it made her fear her, slightly, too. But Mama Jeanie was the wisest person Caggie knew; patient and kind. If she hadn't had Mama Jeanie, she would have fallen apart long ago.

It wasn't always easy, being a witch. Certainly not as easy – or half as fun – as it looked on TV and in movies.

The Jeep pulled out of the lot and zipped down the main road. Caggie gunned it, just in case – Ya-Ya was usually pretty perceptive when it came to these things. In 1995 she'd gotten a chill down her spine (for what seemed to be, at the time, no reason) as the two of them had been loading Barbie and Ken dolls into a Barbie's pink convertible. Later that night, Caggie had found out her parents were dead – they had been blindsided at high speed.

The car that had hit them was found, mangled and twisted in a knot with the other. In 2005, ten years later, Caggie had learnt that the only thing the authorities _hadn't _found was the car's driver – who, by all reckoning, should have been dead.

Mama Jeanie had her suspicions. "What witch worth her salt would die in a car accident?" she'd always murmur. Caggie wasn't sure if it made her more comfortable to think that the incident had been murder and not folly, but she played along – even when Mama Jeanie has placed a protective spell over Caggie and her sisters. She supposed it made her feel safer, sometimes; but spells like that could only last for so long. By Caggie's calculations, they only had a month left.

The closer they drew to Main Street, where Caggie lived – above a Wiccan shop on the main street in a college town, no less – the more anxious Caggie became. She'd started to feel the chill too, now.

"Ems is feeling it," Ya-Ya said, consulting her phone. "She just texted me. Is this freaky or _what?_"

"Yeah," Caggie said nervously. "It's, uh…pretty freaky."

It was more than freaky – it was scary.

From the outside, the Wiccan shop looked normal: the same canary yellow facade, with the same roses growing in the garden outside and the same wisteria climbing the patio. The sign above the door said DRISCOLL GENERAL SUPPLY; Mama Jeanie had never changed it. The porch was deserted, which was unusual for this time of year – usually Mama Jeanie would be waiting for them with cookies, tea and veggies.

"We're late," Caggie said, turning the key in the ignition. The car fell dead silent. "She probably went inside." She was trying to reassure herself more than anything, and Ya-Ya knew it.

"Yeah…" Ya-Ya seemed skeptical. "Probably. You know how Mama J hates the cold."

Caggie led the way along the weed-addled path, up the porch stairs and inside, her backpack slung over her shoulder. She hoped she seemed braver than she felt, but she somehow doubted that she did. In the hallway, a bunch of tulips were wilting in a crystal vase. Caggie snatched it up and carried it with her as she walked; nothing made her sadder than dead flowers.

Mama Jeanie was in the kitchen, her head bent low.

"Mama Jeanie?"

She lifted her head; it was obvious she'd been crying. Caggie had only seen Mama Jeanie cry once: when Raani had left the store in a blaze of rage, screaming, only pausing long enough to promise that she would never cast a spell again. Three people had been walking past at that moment, and Mama Jeanie had been forced to erase their memories as Raani drove away in her battered Volkswagen Beatle; a sacrifice to keep their secret safe.

Memories were a funny thing. Scientists thought they had memories taped, but witches knew everything there was to know and more. A memory ran in one line, never broken; to erase one memory was to erase them all. Mama Jeanie had given them new memories to replace the ones they'd lost, but all three had moved soon after, unable to remember why they'd moved to the small college town in the first place.

It had broken Mama Jeanie's heart; she'd broken her vows to keep them, and changed three lives for the worse in the process.

Even then, as angry as she was, Raani hadn't said the five little words that would make it all go away – five words that had only been said twice before. Blake's mother had said them, twenty years ago, hoping that her daughters wouldn't be born witches; Mama Jeanie's sister had said them in 1951.

Caggie resolved herself. From the look on Mama Jeanie's face, she could only assume that Raani had said them now – it would explain why they all felt so cold, all of a sudden.

"What's wrong?" Ya-Ya asked, crossing to put her hand on Mama Jeanie's back. "You're crying, Mama J – you never cry." She took the seat next to her; took her hand. Caggie, always more pragmatic, made Mama Jeanie a cup of tea, bustling around the kitchen to find tea cups and lemon and strainers and sugar cubes.

For ten minutes, Mama Jeanie didn't speak. When she did, Caggie wished she hadn't.

"Raani…Raani is dead."

Ya-Ya gasped. Caggie froze. Mama Jeanie seemed to slump even more, just by saying the words aloud, like they were some horrible spell she'd said once before and was repeating, knowing their outcome – like she knew that, once again, she was taking away good memories to replace them with something bitter, cold and soulless.

Caggie panicked. She couldn't remember what Raani looked like, and now she'd never see her again. She felt like it was 1995; she felt like she was three-years-old; that Mama Jeanie was meekly telling her that her parents weren't coming back from their holiday; that it was just the two of them now. "What?" she said weakly. "What do you mean…?"

Words tumbled into the room, but they didn't seem like they attached to anything or anyone in it. "A policeman came to the door today – a man from Boston. Drove me there. I identified the body. She was living in Boston, working in a coffee shop; she studied at a community college there. She had a boyfriend named Allan and a cat named Steve. She's been dead for three days."

"What…how did she – ?"

Mama Jeanie broke out in fresh tears. Ya-Ya and Caggie exchanged looks. "An accident?" Caggie asked.

Mama Jeanie shook her head. "Murder."

"Why…?"

"I don't know," Mama Jeanie wailed, hanging her head even lower. She crossed her arms over it and simpered into the gingham tablecloth. "Her boyfriend said she'd been in Ipswich for three days before that, but he had no idea why – said she'd left without telling him, in the dead of the night."

Caggie wanted to cry, too. She wanted to curl up in a ball under her bed like she had before, hugging her pillow close, and cry and scream into it until she was hoarse and dehydrated.

But she wasn't frivolous; she was responsible. "Then I'm going to Ipswich," she said, "and I'm getting some answers."


End file.
